Journal: Colorado Excursion, Adventure, and Excitement

I closed last week’s letter saying that the people who owned the pickup camper were expecting us, and we were just 25 minutes away.

When we got there, they had the lights and the furnace on in the camper, making it pretty, warm, and inviting.  Larry likes pickup campers.  Me, not so much.  However, this one is a very nice one, for a pickup camper.  It even has a wee bathroom.  There’s a shower nozzle in that thing, and a drain hole in the bathroom floor.  But ... how do you use it, without drowning the entire little room, for pity’s sake?  😜

Larry and the man agreed to $1,000, and the man threw in a special hitch, too.  Larry has looked at those hitches, which are long enough to extend beyond the camper to tow a trailer, and they are $800.  The camper itself is extra long, hence the need for a longer hitch.

Larry had brought along the jacks he needed to get the camper onto his pickup, as the built-on jack on one corner of the camper had given way and messed up the corner – which is why the people sold it so cheap.

We checked into the LaQuinta Hotel in Loveland that night.  By booking online, I saved about $15.  Motel rooms always cost more than expected, once they add on the tax and fees.  But... I sure did like that lovely room there at the La Quinta Inn.  It was nice and roomy... unlike pickup campers.

I remember when I was wee little, riding in my parents’ Renault Dauphine.  I was the only kiddo in the back seat; I had it all to myself.  I’d lay down on the seat, touch my toes on one side of the car, reach out and touch my fingers to the other side, and cry, “Too tight!!!  Too tight!!!”

We hadn’t had anything to eat for hours, and we were hungry.  Starved.  But it was late, and restaurants would be closing.  I looked online for a place to eat, found a few still open – and discovered that some of them delivered. 

We ordered sub sandwiches from Silver Mine Subs – and after a little while, a young man brought the food right to our door!  First time I’ve had food delivered in, oh, probably 15 years.  Heady stuff.  😉

My sandwich was called a Cripple Creek sub, and consisted of grilled chicken, bacon, a large selection of vegetables, and cheddar and pepper jack cheeses on toasted whole wheat bread. Larry’s was called a Steam Engine, and was comprised of his favorite meatballs, with marinara sauce.  We got macadamia nut cookies and brownies for dessert.  I had ¾ of my sub, half a cookie, a quarter of the brownie, and was stuffed. 

Did you know that if you reuse too often the little paper cups for hot liquids that they have in motel rooms, the bottom drops out?  

“I hope you did not spill hot coffee all over yourself,” worried a friend.

“No,” I told her, “nobody was harmed in the gathering and dispensing of this Very Important Scientific Data.  The cup just got a bit spongy and started leaving a ring where I set it, and I wisely put the next cup on the tray into service.

“But saying ‘the bottom drops out’ sounded more impressive.”

I noticed via WeatherBug that there was a big thunderstorm back home.  The cats were probably scared to death, and I wasn’t there to say, “There, there,” and rub their little heads.  I also saw that the high mountains had received up to a foot of snow in the past 24 hours.  And Larry had forgotten the chains for the tires!

Tuesday morning, Larry went off to get the camper loaded onto his pickup.  I stayed at the motel, Living the Life of Riley, curling my hair, reading the funnies, and getting ready to go have a free breakfast. 

Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day, though I can never eat a whole lot, and I’d rather eat it at noon. 

Friends and family started asking for photos of our ‘new’ pickup camper.  Since I hadn’t taken any pictures of it yet, I hunted for similar ones on the Internet:  ß

At ten ’til eleven, the maid told me checkout was at 11:00 a.m.  I told her my predicament – Larry wasn’t back yet, and I didn’t know how much longer it would take him.  But I had everything packed up and ready to go, and I offered to take the bellman’s cart with all our stuff downstairs and find a place to wait.  She immediately assured me that it was fine if I waited in my room, and she could save that room to clean later.

A little after 11:00 a.m., Larry texted me to ask, “Can you manage to get the cart and put the bags on it?  I have the camper on.  I will temporarily hook it down and come get you, then come back and get the rest of the stuff.”

“I have everything ready and loaded on the cart,” I replied, and then decided I was tough enough to shove the thing out the door, down the hall, onto the elevator, and ... somewhere else, where I could inconspicuously wait for Larry’s return.

Pushing a large cart loaded with a couple hundred pounds of bags and stuff, a large cart with swiveling wheels that prefer to swivel in opposing directions, whilst trying to hold open heavy doors, is not the same as pushing a large empty cart.  It might have been a bellman’s cart all right, but there was no bellman.

By the time I got the thing off the elevator on the first floor and shoved into a windowed corner near the glassed-in pool where reposed a chair and a tall potted tree, I was boiling hot. 

I decided to open the window.

It was stuck.

I braced my feet, grabbed the handle with both hands, and pulllled with all my might and main.

The window came open.

It came open so fast, I sat in the pot right beside the tree.

I greeted said tree, introduced myself, patted it kindly on the trunk, got back out of the pot, brushed off my karumpasetter, and reseated myself in the chair, furtively making sure the large cart with all our stuff on it was still blocking me from the view of anyone who may have been rambling down the hall.

I opened up my tablet, prepared to send a few messages – and there was Larry.

I put my tablet back in the cute little case Hester gave me, gathered up my purse, my thermal coffee mug, my sweater, and my scarf.  Larry grabbed one of the tubular steel pipes on the cart and rolled it effortlessly along in front of him.

“Showoff,” I muttered, scurrying to stay up.

If he gets tired of driving a boom truck, he could always become a bellman.

We loaded everything into camper and truck, drove back to the camper owners’ home, and Larry worked on fastening the camper down good and tight.  The lady, a friendly person a few years younger than me, chatted with me for a while, until she needed to go somewhere.  She first offered us the use of their restroom.  We declined.  She pointed to the back patio door, and said she’d leave it unlocked.

She no sooner departed than I realized, Oops, I should’ve taken her up on that offer.  So I went through the gate to the back door... went in... and, as I knew would happen, was greeted by the ferocious barking of their three dogs, the Big, the Medium, and the Dinky:  a 1 ½-year-old golden Lab, a 10-year-old (fat) Cocker Spaniel, and a 5-year-old toy Yorkie. 

They all ran at me at once.

Fortunately, I like dogs.  I am not afraid of dogs.  Dogs generally seem to know this.

“Hi, dogs!” I greeted them cheerily, and proceeded on in, just like I knew what I was doing.  The Spaniel sniffed at me, realized, Oh, yes, I remember you from last night.  She lumbered back to her spot on the couch, clambering up on it with difficulty.  Probably a cousin or something to our obese cat, Tiger.

The mini Yorkie ran a Figure 8 or two around my ankles, looked to see where the Spaniel had gone, and decided, Oh!  I’d best get back over there with my buddy! – and off she went to the couch. 

The young Lab, as most Labs are, was much more energetic and determined that I would show her attention.  Hey!  You’ve come to play with me, haven’t you, haven’t you?!  Play?  Play!  Here, let me jump on you, then you’ll know I’m glad to see you and ready to play. 

I hunted for the restroom.  The Golden found her tug-rope toy and chased after me.  Play!  Play!!!  I escaped into the restroom and shut the door in her hopeful face, laughing at her.  “Stay back!” and, as she back up a step, “Good dog.” which made her bound forward.  Okay, now I can come in, right?  Play!  Play!!!

As I exited the house a couple of minutes later, she hop-skipped alongside me.  All right, if you won’t pull on my tug-rope, I’ll lick your hands.  In fact, how ’bout if I chew on your arm?

“Oh, quit!” I exclaimed, laughing, and pushing her head away.  She tried to come in low, and I wound up clonking ker-THOK right into her head with my kneecap by accident.

She backed up, surprised.  Well, all righty, then, if you put it that way!

I went back out through the sliding patio door, and shut it in her face again.  Before I got off the brick patio, there was the Lab, joyfully bursting out of the garage door.  She’d gone out of the house and into the garage through the pet door.

She thought that now maybe she’d get to come out through the gate with me, but was of course disappointed.  She watched me go, tail drooping, jowls hanging low.  Don’t you like me?

I clambered back into the truck.  By now I was hungry, as it had been several hours since I’d eaten breakfast.  So I finished the rest of the breakfast I couldn’t eat at the motel.  I’d had a bagel, half of a banana, and a glass of milk there.  Now I ate the yogurt, the other half of the banana, and had a few Honey Dijon pretzel crisps.  That would hold me until supper.

After Larry finished tying the camper down with quite a lot of heavy chains and other unidentifiable hardware, wiring the lights as far as he could, he put away his tools, strapped a few things on the carrying rack up on top, and then we headed west through Loveland.  We found a Jax farm store, and stopped for the needed electrical harness and propane for the dual tanks on the camper. 

As I typed away on my laptop, Huckleberry Finn strolled across the parking lot directly in front of me.

Well, that’s who it looked like, anyway. 

An email arrived from Lydia – notice of an early birthday gift:  a gift card from www.sewthankful.com.  I always appreciate that kind of gift, and I really like the family who runs Sew Thankful.

We got some things at the organic Farmer’s Market, including the hugest, yummiest Thompson grapes I ever did see (or eat) in my life.

We found a campground at about 8:00 p.m. about 30 miles east of Rocky Mountain National Park.  The campgrounds in the higher elevations have already closed for the winter.  The Riverview RV Park is a nice one, right beside the Big Thompson River.

It was 51°.  Thank goodness, there were nice showers there.  That supposed ‘shower’ in our camper is way too small, and there are areas that would need to be caulked, if anyone should actually intend to use it.  I certainly don’t plan to shower in the same two-foot by two-foot spot that accommodates a toilet, thank you very kindly.  Furthermore, the sink would be directly under one’s elbow. 

Therefore, if I go anywhere with Larry and that camper, then we must find campgrounds with showers to stay in.

I don’t mind ‘roughing it’, so long as I can shower and wash my hair, every single day.

That evening, I posted some pictures from our last two days of traveling:

Heading to Colorado, and In Loveland, Colorado

After getting situated in our parking spot at the campground, Larry hooked up the water hose to the camper.  He went off to do other things.

A few minutes later, I thought, The river is flowing faster.  And then, No, it’s a new waterfall.  I trotted around the camper and yelled to Larry:  “The tank is overflowing!”

He ran to turn off the water (it required a wrench, and I don’t carry wrenches in my pockets).  Hoping the tank had just gotten full and there wasn’t a crack in a waterline somewhere, he proceeded on to the next order of business, and I pulled out what I needed to cook some supper. 

Larry lit the water heater.  (Why does everyone call them ‘hot water heaters’?  They don’t heat hot water, do they?  They create hot water, by simply ‘heating water’!)  We started the furnace.

I immediately smelled propane – strongly.  I informed Larry (who doesn’t have a ‘real good smeller’, as one of his uncles used to say), then hurried outside for fresh air.  I’m extremely sensitive to smells, and any type of gas or fuel smell is the worst.

I no sooner got outside than I realized, It’s even worse out here!  I rushed to tell Larry, and he hurried to the propane bottle compartment, where he discovered that a bottle was indeed leaking.  Vapors were pouring out of the exterior vent. 

Larry shut it down, and we opened windows and vents inside the camper and turned on the little space heater I’d brought along.  He tightened up all the connectors from propane tank to regulator (someone had secured hoses with the wrong kind of clamps), and hoped that would solve the problem. 

And it was a problem.  My head was thumping, my eyes, nose, and throat were burning, and I couldn’t go back inside the camper yet.  I took my laptop to a nearby picnic table (in the pitch blackness of night) and tried to enjoy the rushing sound of the nearby Big Thompson River (unless it was the water tank overflowing again), the hooting of an owl in the pines (unless it was somebody’s brakes failing on a nearby mountain pass), and the howling of coyotes in the fields (unless it was an old man singing in his little cabin door), all the while hoping my blood didn’t coagulate before the air cleared in the camper and I could go back inside where it was (relatively) warm.  The temperature dropped another 20° while I was out there.

I really was quite fond of that big, nice room at the La Quinta.

Eventually, Larry gave the all-clear note (for the third time – the first two were false), and I collected my paraphernalia and headed back in.

I stepped up on the camper’s back step – and exclaimed, “What’s all this water on the floor?!”

It seemed to be flowing from up front, where the sink was located.  Larry removed the ‘step’ one uses to get up into the top bunk, and peered down into the water tank with its various hoses and pipes.  He put some dish soap on fittings and hoses here and there.  No bubbles.  Maybe it was just aftereffects from overfilling and over-pressurizing the tank?

We mopped the floor with one of our few big towels.  It needed to be mopped anyway, because of us trekking in and out with less-than-clean shoes, but I hoped we wouldn’t run out of towels before the week was through.  Larry turned on the sink faucets and let a quantity of water run out of the tank.

We had no more leaks or interior rivers or exterior waterfalls (except for the ones on the mountainsides) after that.

Wednesday morning dawned bright and pretty.  I made use of the park’s showers, then headed back to the camper to blow-dry and curl my hair whilst reading email, my Bible, news, etc., on my laptop and sipping Blueberry Cobbler coffee.  The nice thing about reading my Bible on my laptop is that I can make the print nice and big so I can see it easily – but I sure wish it was in the Scofield format to which I am accustomed.

Any time I played something on youtube at that campground, the little icon for casting to a TV screen showed in the bottom right corner of the youtube window.  Someone must have had one of those gismos like Amazon’s Fire TV connected and running nearby in their camper or cabin.  If I clicked the icon, would whatever I was watching on youtube override the show they were watching?  Heh heh  ((... evil sniggle ...))  This could be fun.

Larry took his things out of his bags and tucked them away in cupboards and drawers in the camper, after which he folded the bags and tucked them away, too, making the camper feel a bit less crowded.  I left my clothes in the bags, since I can’t reach the high cupboards, and can barely pull them open in any case.  Those latches are tight.  The water tank might overflow; but nothing is ever going to fall out of those cupboards!  Besides, I figured I’d need to carry the bags into campground shower houses or, better yet, motels.

We had shredded wheat for breakfast.  We’re both fond of shredded wheat.

Then, while Larry worked on the camper, I went trekking about taking photos.  Our pickup and camper is the first one on the left side of the lane.

It was 46°.  I should’ve taken some leggings!  I sort of meant to, but ... well, when one is rushing around packing, hotter’n a biscuit, one never imagines that the very next day, one might be colder’n an ice cube, ay?

In the meantime, Larry was fixing the corner where the jack tore loose when the previous owners were using it.  He’d taken along everything he needed to repair the corner and make it watertight – saws, drills, screws, angle iron, caulking...

The camper had gotten damaged when the husband and son were taking the camper off the truck (or putting it on, maybe)... and the wife came out to take pictures.  It was she who spotted the jack as it was in the process of removing itself from its pinnings.  She yelled for husband and son to get out of the way, and they scurried to put blocks of wood and a couple of tires under it to keep it off the ground when it fell – and fall it did, but not as far as it would have otherwise.  If the lady had not noticed, the man would have gotten pinned between the camper and the neighbor’s garage, and might easily have been killed.

I started getting warm from all my hiking about, so I went in the camper to remove one layer of sweaters.  My computer was open on the table, and I found an email from a friend in answer to one of my notes wherein I mentioned Martinelli apple juice.

“I get that company mixed up with Martelli (the rotary cutter),” she wrote.  “One time my husband told me he was going to get some Martinelli juice, and I got excited for a minute before the word ‘juice’ sank in.”

Me, too.  I finally set up Outlook and Word to fix things for me:  if I type ‘Martelli apple juice’, it changes it to ‘Martinelli apple juice’.  If I type ‘Martinelli rotary cutter’, it changes it to ‘Martelli rotary cutter’.  I use the AutoCorrect function to make the computer put in streams of words to replace something I typed.

Once upon a time, knowing Teddy was going to be using my computer to type a school report, I set it to throw in “I am a bona fide goofball” every time the word “the” was typed.

The next time I went to use my computer, I discovered that the only part of my office chair left was the wheeled pedestal.  I eventually found the seat part waaay back under my grand piano.  hee hee

By mid-afternoon, the camper had been put into decent shape again, and we drove west toward Estes Lake.  It was getting too late to go into Rocky Mountain National Park, so we parked beside Estes Lake, and I fixed supper while Larry fished for a little while.  I made split pea soup.  Mmmm, mmm.  I could eat that stuff ’til I pop.  So long as it’s not cooked to mush, that is.

The split peas came from home.  We bought celery, an onion, and ham chunks at the Farmer’s Market – and forgot the carrots.  It was good, nevertheless.  If I had’ve known Larry tossed in the bag of split peas, I would’ve grabbed the onions and carrots from the refrigerator and saved a little money!

Larry fished until it was too dark to see.  A big round orange moon came up over the eastern mountains, and on the other side of the lake was a herd of elk.  The bulls were bugling, and their piping echoed from mountainside to mountainside.

Larry finally gave up on the fishing.  “It so dark, I can’t tell when the bobber goes down, and something keeps stealing the cheese!”  He stopped abruptly, looked sheepish, and said, “Er, bait.”

Too late.

“Cheese?!” I exclaimed.  “You’re feeding the fish my cheese?!!!”

He was.  My cheese, scrumptious cheese that we’d bought at the Farmer’s Market!  Aarrgghhh.

We headed back to the campground where we’d stayed the previous night.

Thursday morning, Larry fixed cornmeal/buckwheat pancakes.  We had Sprouts Crunchy peanut butter, the kind you have to stir the oil into, also from the Farmer's Market, to put on them, along with syrup and jellies.

Those pancakes almost made up for the cheese Larry fed the fish the night before.  Almost.

As we ate, we watched a Great Blue Heron fishing in the Big Thompson River just outside our window.

I washed the dishes, and away we went to Rocky Mountain National Park.

Lydia wrote to say that Jeremy was in Ashland, Nebraska, about halfway between Omaha and Lincoln, taking a tree-climbing arborist class.  Later, he posted a picture of himself waaay high in a tree. 

“That makes my hands clammy!” I wrote.  And it does.

As we drove through the town of Estes Park, on the east edge of Rocky Mountain National Park, we stopped for gas – and I spotted a boutique nearby called... hmmm...

Ah-ha!  Here it is.  First, I typed into Google ‘Let us warm you up’ Boutique, because that’s what it said on their sign – and I wound up with every last brewery in Estes Park.  Turns out, the real name is ‘The Warming House’. 

Anyway, we went in.

For my birthday, which was the next day, Larry got me a pair of Terramar Hottotties Cloud Nine contour leggings (86% Micro Polyester/14% Spandex, 180 gsm), since it was so cold and windy.  These are quite thin, but rated for 25° weather.  Pricey... but they sure are nice.  Actually, he didn’t say it was for my birthday; I did.  😉

I found some mittens I thought I’d get, too – the kind that can fold back so just the fingertips are out, but then I saw the price:  $89.00.  AAaaaaaaa!!!!!!!  I quit touching them fast, before I broke them and had to buy them.

I remarked on this to some quilting friends, and one lady sent me a link to a free knitting pattern called ‘Hunter’s Mittens’. 

I promptly sent the link to some of my girls, telling them I would pay them to make the mittens, or they could make them for me for Christmas.  I’m happy if they make me things... not just because I’m sentimental, but also because I’m glad if they don’t spend their hard-earned money (or their husbands’ hard-earned money) on me.  They have their families to care for, after all, and I already have everything I need.

Along came a literally-minded friend, asking, “Sarah Lynn, how does someone break mittens?”

“Why, they must be made out of handblown glass, and someone drops them!” I told her.

Some of those high-priced things were wool, but I didn’t look to see what kind, as we were in a bit of a hurry.  But the highest-priced gloves of all were neoprene and Therma-something-or-other and poly-this-or-that and nylon-something-else – thick, thick things with a lot of lining, suitable for skiing or hiking in far-below-zero weather.  Waterproof, too.

We drove west, and soon were in the Park on Trail Ridge Road.  We could only go up to Rainbow Curve, though; the road was closed after that, because of snow.  We parked and walked up the road a little farther.  One or two of those adorable little Least Chipmunks, aka Colorado Chipmunks, ran along the rock wall beside us, doubtless hoping for handouts, of which we had none to offer. 

There were even Painted Lady butterflies way up there on Trail Ridge Road, in that 35° weather, with half a foot of snow on the ground!  There have been so many of those butterflies this year, they have shown up on radar.  Migrating birds show up fairly often, but it’s quite the phenomenon, when it’s butterflies.  Amazing what radar shows.  One year, it showed a huge influx of grasshoppers in western Nebraska.

Thinking we were all alone up there some distance beyond the ‘Road Closed’ sign, we got into a snowball scuffle.  Then I looked over Larry’s shoulder and saw that a young man had come hiking around the corner, and was watching us, laughing and enjoying the spectacle.  So we did our good deed for the day, and cheered somebody up.

We headed back the way we had come, planning to go over to Bear Lake.  Following our map, we turned on the right road – and saw a sign informing us that the parking lot at Bear Lake was completely full, and if we wanted to go there, we would have to park at the lot just around the corner and travel the rest of the way via bus.

That’s against Larry’s religion.

We made yet another U-turn, and went back toward Estes Park.

Just before leaving Rocky Mountain National Park, we came upon the usual herd of elk.  This was perhaps the latest time of the year that we have seen them, and the rut has already started.  The bulls were all engrossed in their objective, which was to show all the other bulls exactly who was boss.  I got a whole lot of videos and photos of big bull elk fighting, clattering their horns together, and bleating.

As we exited Rocky Mountain National Park and turned south on route 7 toward Nederland, the sun was sinking low in a blaze of color.  It was so beautiful, it really is beyond description.

I got a note from Victoria.  “Teensy is fine,” she wrote, and sent pictures of him all stretched out happily on Kurt’s lap.

We stayed in Idaho Springs that night – in a motel.  We couldn’t find any campgrounds open, from Estes Park south to Idaho Springs.  Well, there was one that was open, but it was full.  I was glad enough for the motel, because I was happy to have a shower in the room (as opposed to a shower house way over yonder)... and space to actually walk about. 

The owner, a small, friendly Japanese man, led us all the way around to the back side of the long, one-story building, and pointed out our room and the place to park beside a pretty white fence with pine trees alongside it.  Part of one low-hanging branch got itself stuck in the top rack on the camper, and we carried it with us for a ways through town the next morning, until Larry spotted it and decided he’d better remove it before it removed itself, and landed on some hapless traveler.  Immediately north of the parking lot and down a short cliff rushed Clear Creek.

It was an odd little motel, with no desk, and only a couple of straight-backed vinyl chairs, albeit somewhat cushioned.  The ceiling light and fan in the middle of the room did not work.

“No desk?” I queried as I walked in, laptop case in hand.

“They didn’t think of it,” said Larry.  “They sit on the floor.”  😆

The bathroom door opened onto a dark wall of paneling.  Immediately to the left was the shower, and immediately to the right was the toilet.  The sink in its wide steel-framed counter was in the main part of the room.  The narrow hallway that comprised the bathroom was about an inch and a half lower than the rest of the room.

Thus, Larry and I spent our stay there tumbling into the bathroom, and then stumbling back out.

We fixed supper in the camper and ate it in the motel room:  grilled cheese sandwiches on 12-grain bread, cottage cheese, cauliflower and ranch dip, grapes and bananas, dried apricots, and rice pudding.  I made tea with the water from the sink, and wound up with chlorine-flavored Legends of China.  Bleah.  We should’ve brought in our jugs of distilled water!

Friday was October 6, my birthday.  I am now 57 years old.  (Never did see the sense in trying to hide one’s age.) 

Before leaving Idaho Springs the next morning, we stopped by a favorite place – The Soap Shop.  I got three bars of handmade soap (Lilac Breeze, Colorado Columbine, and Honeysuckle Gardenia), three tubes of handmade lip balm (Snickerdoodle, Mayan Chocolate, and Wild Mtn. Honey), and a large bath bomb (Honeysuckle Gardenia).  I planned to give the bath bomb to Amy for her birthday, which was October 7^th, the day after mine.

I love that little shop with all it’s delightful-smelling soaps, bath bombs, lotions, and cremes.  What I really want is one each of every last thing in the store.  😏

Larry had bought a five-day fishing permit and didn’t want it to go to waste, so we commenced traveling toward Dillon Reservoir.  The day was bright and sunny.

It wouldn’t stay that way.

We drove through the Eisenhower Tunnel, and were then on the other side of the Great Divide, going toward Dillon and Frisco.

One time some years back, we entered the Tunnel on the east in 45° weather, under a partly sunny sky, and exited a few minutes later on the west in 25° weather, with snow coming down hard.  Odd sensation.

The drive to Dillon Reservoir was a bust (other than the spectacular scenery).  They don’t allow campers – not even pickups with campers – to cross the dam, and we didn’t know another way to get to the lake’s edge.  And no, we couldn’t possibly stop and ask.

By the time we circled that big lake, with its nearly 30-mile circumference, a couple of times, clouds had come pouring over the western mountains.  The first few swirls were fine and misty, but the ensuing billows were charcoal gray and looked like they meant business.  The temperature fell by 20°, and the wind picked up steam with increasing fury.

We gave up and turned east.  Well, one of us gave up, anyway.  The other one went along for the ride.  The snow blew in hurried rivulets across the interstate, and the wind rocked the truck and camper a bit.  This, I do not like.

So there we went, the crabby fisherman who wanted to fish and couldn’t, and the fretful fishwife who was tired of riding and had to anyway.

We got to Georgetown Lake, and Larry went fishing.  The snow was coming down sideways by then, but Larry went fishing.  It wasn’t long before the snow was coming down so hard, I couldn’t even see the mountains all around us.  But Larry went fishing.

I was in the camper, working on my photos on my laptop.  Larry finally threw in the towel with the fishing business.  We went back to town, got a room at America’s Best Value Inn, where we once stayed when Victoria was with us, and then drove around looking at all the old houses, all fixed up.  Most of the homes in the historic part of Georgetown were built in the mid-to-late 1800s.

We headed up Guanella Pass, and stopped on a scenic turnout above the town.  The evergreens were covered with snow, and the aspens were golden and orange.  A beautiful sight.

By then it was suppertime, and we were hungry.  We returned to the motel.  When we got out of the truck, we were greeted with such a strong wind, I could barely keep my pins under me, and the snow was starting again.  We rushed into our room, shivering.

There was a Subway two or three blocks away, and Larry thought he’d walk over there and get us some grub, but when he went back out, the wind had increased even more.  He drove.

He returned shortly with the sandwiches, blowing in the door like a small hurricane.  It occurred to me that if it got too cold out there, the waterlines in the camper could freeze.  I checked online and found the following conflicting information: 

WeatherBug:  19°.  Weather.com:  42°.  AccuWeather:  30°.  Eh?

Larry went off (somewhat grouchily) to empty the holding tanks and to pour a little antifreeze down the drains.  Overhead, an elk tap-danced on an upper deck.  Unless it was Billy the Kid in his blunt-toed cowboy boots.  This is why I prefer the top floors of motels!

While he (Larry, that is; not Billy the Kid) was gone, the electricity went out.  I peered out the window, and saw nothing but pitch blackness. 

The room was getting colder – and I discovered the bed didn’t even have a blanket!  It had a sheet and a thin comforter; that was it.  There were thick fleece blankets, comforters, and sleeping bags in the camper.  I sent Larry a text, asking him to bring them in when he returned, but he didn’t hear his phone in the howling gale.  He returned, sans blankets, saying that the power was out through half of the town – our half, of course.

He seemed remarkably disinclined to go back out into the elements and retrieve those blankets.

I was getting Internet service from my tablet’s Wi-Fi hotspot, but my laptop battery was getting low.  The tablet still had plenty of battery life, but my pictures and photo editors are on the laptop.  I really like the laptop’s lighted keyboard when I’m working in the dark, but it sure does run the battery down a lot faster – as does the touchscreen.  What I need is an external battery pac-------------------  Aiiiiyiiiyiiiieeee.  I just checked the price.  Never mind.  What I need is an outlet in the wall, with juice flowing from said outlet.

Anyway, I had enough battery power to post two pages of photos from our travels:

Heading Southwest out of Loveland, Colorado

Riverview RV Park and Estes Park, Colorado

Meanwhile, the wind was gusting so hard, the whole motel was shaking.  And I needed me some hot tea!  But there was no hot tea.

I drank lukewarm-to-mostly-cool tea, doubled up on layers of clothes, and went to bed.

The electricity came on in the middle of the night.  We knew this, because we had neglected to turn off the light switches before retiring.  So the lights all came on, along with the heater.

I got up, turned off the lights, set the heater to ‘Toasty Warm/Piping Hot’, and went back to bed.

An hour later, I got up, set the heater to ‘Refreshing Breeze’, and removed several layers of clothing.

By the time I got up for good an hour later, I was frozen solid again.

I never was known for my moderation.

It was Saturday, October 7, and major winter snowstorm watches and warnings were being issued throughout the Rockies and the High Plains.  Some areas were expecting over a foot of snow.  Looks like we drove through and were heading home just in time!

“Wow!” wrote one of my girls upon hearing this news.  “Do they close off some of those places for the winter?”

“Naaaa...” I answered.  “They just put chains on the vehicles, snowshoes on the people, sleds under the babies, and keep right on a-goin’!”

I had a blueberry muffin and a huge peach from the Farmer’s Market for breakfast.  And frozen milk.  The thermistor in the camper refrigerator wasn’t regulating things properly.  Perhaps it fell off a fin when the camper jack gave way?  Milk on the rocks!

As we drove on I70 east toward Idaho Springs, we went under a flashing sign warning of high winds.  As previously noted, I do not like driving pickup campers in high winds.

Up ahead, we saw flashing lights and a long, long traffic backup in the west-going lanes.  It was a motorcycle accident.  Traffic was stalled for many miles on that side.  Bad day for motorcycle riding, as the wind was blowing strongly, but very unstable as it gusted through canyons and arroyos.

And then we were in Denver, and it was 76° and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.  Ah, Colorado weather.  We turned north on I25 toward Cheyenne, Wyoming, having decided to take a northern route – Highway 20 – through western Nebraska.  It’s pretty country out there.

We stopped at a Starbucks in Thornton, a northern suburb of Denver, for the express purpose of using a couple of gift cards a friend gave us last Christmas.  We’ve been saving them for the perfect occasion – and this was it.  I got a granola berry yogurt and a coffee.  Larry got a grilled chicken sandwich (100% better than the awful greasy breaded chicken piece on squished white buns that he got at a truck stop in western Nebraska last Monday) and a Doubleshot Espresso Salted Caramel Cream.

Leaving Starbucks, we went to the nearby Dick’s Sporting Goods store, where Larry found a pair of Nike tennis shoes he wanted to get with a Nike gift card from Andrew and Hester.  The shoes had the type of good-gripping sole he needed for working on the roof.

The store wouldn’t accept the card.

The young clerk was all apologetic... but of course it wasn’t his fault.

We left the shoes behind, went back to the pickup, and continued on our way.  We’ll get the shoes online somewhere.

It was 71° in Loveland.  By sunset, we were at a campground in Torrington, Wyoming, and it was still 69°.  We had the door open (screen door in place) and a window open, and could hear a train a little distance away as it cut through the valley.  There were nice showers at the campground, and very few people there.

We ate supper, and went for a mile-long walk through the old main street of Torrington.  There were all sorts of nifty shops, boutiques (I saw a gorgeous pair of red leather lace-up ankle boots, and a short red wool trenchcoat with big black buttons and a fluffy fur collar that I neeeeeeded), antique shops, old-time general stores...  AND there was a quilt shop called Covered Wagon Quilts.  I could see all sorts of pretty things through the window.  

When we got back to the camper, I looked it up online and discovered that there are at least two more quilt shops there:  Scrappy Shack, and Sew Mini Blessings.  All this, in a little town of only 6,715 people.  The stores would be closed the next day, as it was Sunday.

We could hear coyotes and night insects as we prepared for bed.  We were only four or five blocks from the open prairie and the North Platte River.

Sunday morning found me sipping hazelnut caramel coffee as I curled my hair.  When that little task was done, I had apple-cinnamon oatmeal for breakfast.

I poured the rest of the coffee in the little pot into our thermos and mugs, Larry got the camper ready to go, and we headed north toward Lusk, Wyoming, and then east into the northwestern part of Nebraska.  This is a beautiful part of our state, with its forests and hills and rivers.  After that, there are miles of Sandhills – and the Sandhills are rarely sandy.  There’s been plenty of rain out there this summer, so the prairie grasses are tall, and the fall wildflowers are still blooming.  We live about 20 miles east of where they say (whoever ‘they’ are) the Sandhills begin.  Instead of rolling hills of prairie grasses, there are rolling hills of corn and beans all around us, with dense trees lining the curving rivers.

People who think Nebraska is flat and dull and goes on forever (it’s about 475 miles across, from east to west) have evidently never gotten off I80, which was understandably built across the flattest, dullest part of state. 

Remember my request to my girls for ‘Hunter’s Mittens’?  I got an answer from Hannah:

“Sure, I’ll make them. But be aware: one will fit you and one will fit Daddy.”

Hee hee 

Next, an answer arrived from Lydia:  “I printed the pattern. 😃  I’ve never made mittens before!”  Then, “I’ll probably be doing good to give them to you for Christmas!  I was reading the directions and it seemed simple until at the end it said ‘reverse instructions for left mitten’.  ?!?!?!!!  I might have to search YouTube to see exactly what that means!  lol”

“Or just make two exactly alike,” I suggested, “and I’ll wear one wrong side out.”

At 2:30 p.m., our homeward progress was abruptly stymied.  We had pulled into a scenic overlook out in the Pine Ridge area of Nebraska to take pictures.  When we got out, Larry discovered that the pickup was leaking oil rather badly.  He put on coveralls and clambered underneath to determine exactly what and exactly where.

“Whatever it is, it’s gotten oil all over the pickup and camper,” he said, which made me look quickly at my skirt.

Of course I would be wearing a white tiered skirt with a white sweater set and white scarf.  And of course the oil had gotten on the nerf bars, and of course my skirt had rubbed on it when I got out of the truck and when I leaned against it, reaching in to change my camera lens.

“Ugh, it’s on my skirt!” I griped.

“Let me see!” said Larry, hurriedly scooting out from under the truck.

Mind you, he was not concerned about the skirt.  What he wanted was to see what color the oil was, so he could determine if we were leaking engine oil or transmission oil.

“What am I, a dipstick?!” I groused.

So there we were, waaaay out in the boonies on the Bridges-to-Buttes Byway, where the antelope outnumber the people.  It was 7 miles or more to the little town of Crawford, and another 24 to the slightly bigger town of Chadron.

Larry searched for and finally found the spot that was leaking.  It was a different spot than what the man had fixed for us in Omaha on our way back from Missouri in early September; this time, it was inside a fitting.  A flaring tool would have fixed it.

Larry had brought a Sawzall, three different types of drills, multitudes of screwdrivers, pliers, and other wrenches; but his flaring tool was at home in the toolbox.  Furthermore, we had no transmission fluid with us.

He got out the gorilla tape and set to work, hoping there hadn’t been too much fluid lost, and we’d be able to get to Crawford.  I checked, and there is one car repair place in town – but it was Sunday, and the place was closed.  We did have cell phone service, but that was only because we were on a higher elevation.  Every time we dropped into a valley, the signal was lost. 

I figured we’d run plumb out of transmission fluid right down in the depths of the deepest valley.  And the roadside shoulder in many places was only a couple of feet wide or less.

An hour or so later, my very oily husband – he even had it in his hair! – told me the truck was fixed as well as possible, still leaking a bit, but hopefully we could get to Crawford.

I gathered up my paraphernalia (I have lots of paraphernalia), scrambled out of the camper (getting more oil on my skirt in the process), and climbed back into the pickup, putting oil on the other side of the skirt.

We made it to Crawford, population 967, and purchased several jugs of transmission fluid at the Dollar Store.

While sitting in the parking lot getting ready to back out, another Dodge with a Cummins motor pulled in, and Larry said, “Hey, it’s the same motor, same year – and it would have the right transmission line on it!  You go distract him while I swap lines.”  Ha!

On we went to Chadron, another 24 miles to the east.  It was cold and windy – Colorado’s weather was following us, it seemed.  Neither the parts houses nor the Dodge dealership were open, so we got a motel room.  That way Larry could take the truck and camper and go get it fixed early in the morning, and I would have a motel room to stay in, in the meantime.

Chadron isn’t a very big town – population 5,725 – but there are many businesses, as they serve a lot of rural area around here.

I was glad we were not stranded roadside, where there are no shoulders, but deep arroyos on all sides, and many steep hills, so that truckers fogging along at 65+ mph might never see us in time.  😲

I set about making potato soup in the motel room, and was soon hoping other motel patrons, sparse though they were, didn’t show up at the door, drooling.  It smelled good in there.  I used Bear Creek dry soup, and cooked it in the microwave.  Bear Creek soup is good stuff.

Early Monday morning, Larry took the pickup and camper to get it fixed.  And he forgot to leave me the coffee!  waa waa waa  I had just one small packet of coffee (room compliment).  I squeezed two small cups out of it, but cup #2 was decidedly weak.  Furthermore, it was a cheap brand with below-par flavor. 

I washed and curled my hair, then trotted down to the breakfast nook, thermal mug in hand.  The coffee in the nook was marginally better.  It’s invariably too strong to suit me.

But maybe I would survive.

I was thankful Larry’s gorilla-tape fix-it job got us to town... I was thankful for a nice motel room on a cold, rainy (and sometimes snowy) night when it would’ve been miserable staying in a pickup camper in a campground... and I was thankful I packed more than enough clothes for our excursion.  I’m thankful for a camera to record our adventures and excitements (and all the beautiful views)... and I’m thankful for the Internet and our cell phones that kept us connected to family and friends in most places we went.

Yep, I would survive.

But I sure wished I had my Blueberry Cobbler Hazelnut Creme French Vanilla coffee, weak-to-middlin’, instead of that ugly motel stuff, extra strong!

I got to the breakfast nook at about 9:40 a.m.  Nobody was around, though there was still food ready and waiting.  Then I saw the sign on the open door:  Breakfast served:  6:00 a.m. – 9:00 a.m.  Oops.

But there was the food... and here was me, stomach a-rumble.  I grabbed plate and plasticware, fished a blueberry bagel out of the display case, sliced it, and put it into the toaster.  Then, after it popped up, since nobody was looking, I put three small packets of butter on each half, along with two packets of jelly on each, one grape and one strawberry.  Mmmm, mmm.  Things are always tastier when they drip down your arm all the way to your elbow. 

I had apple juice, as I hadn’t found any milk or coffee – but as I sat there blissfully munching on that bagel (and watching the news about the awful fires in Napa Valley), I suddenly spotted the refrigerator tucked into the wall on the other side of the room.  I scampered over there, opened it (after a moment of argument with the latch), found a jug of milk, and was just pouring it into a cup when a lady walked in, cleaning cloth and spray bottle in hand.

She greeted me, and asked if I had found what I needed.  She was obviously an employee, and I assumed she was one of the maids, though I would later learn she was the manager.  Fortunately, I treat maids not an iota worse than I treat managers.

I assured her I had what I wanted, and then told her I hadn’t realized the breakfast area closed at 9:00, and apologized.  “I hope I’m not inconveniencing you!” I said.

“Oh, no, not at all!” she replied, and then even offered to turn the waffle-maker back on and cook me up some waffles.

I declined; I was perfectly happy with my bagel.  I’d also picked up a cinnamon roll from the plastic bins, and a carton of yogurt from the refrigerator.  The lady told me to take my time, and asked where I was from.

I told her... and also told her what Larry was doing.

She was immediately sympathetic, saying that if I needed to stay at the motel longer, even through the afternoon, to just let her know, and she’d see to it that the maids knew, too.  “I’m the manager,” she explained.

!  Good thing I don’t treat maids badly, eh?

Meanwhile, the Dodge dealership, where Larry thought surely they’d have a transmission line in stock, ... didn’t.  They could’ve gotten one from Denver by the next day, but Larry declined.  He went to Napa and had them make him a custom-fitting hydraulic hose, which he then installed in minutes.  It’s a good, permanent fix.  He’s done it before on other Cummins engines, and never had another leak or line-blow.

By a quarter after three, we were going through Valentine, Nebraska.  Did you know people send letters to Valentine just to have them stamped with their fancy postmarks, which change year by year, and then forwarded to the intended recipient? – Postmarked with Love

Halfway between Ainsworth and Long Pine, we turned north toward Keller Park State Recreation Area, where Larry wanted to fish for the rainbow trout that they stock the lakes with.  He parked the camper in the campground area there and plugged it in.  It costs $5 to stay overnight, but since we only stayed two or three hours, we didn’t need to donate to the kitty.

While Larry fished, I trotted around taking pictures.  It was a chilly but pretty day.  When it started getting dark, I headed back to the camper and did some work on my laptop, including posting pictures taken Thursday, October 5^th, in Colorado: 

Trek up into Rocky Mountain National Park

Larry caught two rainbow trout.  They’ll be supper one day this week. 

We finally got home at about a quarter ’til two in the morning.  It had rained here most of the time we were gone, and the house smelled like wet cat.  😜😨😬🙀😾😝

I sprayed air freshener... lit a candle... plugged in a wax warmer...  and tomorrow (that means, ‘after I sleep and then get back up again’) I’ll wash the blanket the cats sleep on.  They were sure delighted to have us home again!  Tabby’s been begging for his soft food... Teensy’s been on my lap snuggling (and bumming food off Tabby)... and Tiger’s been rubbing and rubbing (and rubbing) around my ankles.  

But right now, I need to hit the hay!  I got everything put away that we brought in, including the luggage away.  There’s still a lot to get out of the camper, but it was raining steadily harder, so we quit after hauling in most of the clothes. 

If you would prefer the format of Facebook to look at my pictures, I have posted the same pictures there:  https://www.facebook.com/sarahlynn.jackson2

,,,>^..^<,,,         Sarah Dipstick Lynn         ,,,>^..^<,,,